Erin's Journals

Just a thought… Little by little we let go of loss, but never of love. [Author Unknown]

You can watch a video version of this journal on my Facebook page, or here on YouTube.

And so…it’s Valentine’s Day. I know you know; how could you not, really?

I know it’s a day that a lot of people look down their noses at and that’s okay. Sure, it’s what they call a Hallmark holiday, but if you want to mark it, who does it hurt?

If you’re like me, it mattered most when we were kids; of course, this was before everyone got a Valentine out of kindness and compassion for those of us who could count the ones they received on one hand, and maybe have a finger left over. Oh, but when I was a teenager, I spotted and excitedly clipped an ad out of the Toronto Star, barely bigger than a postage stamp, from their paid Valentines classified section. Remember those?

It was from “His name to Erin.” Now, although it was my boyfriend’s or would-be boyfriend’s name, he definitely hadn’t taken out that ad for me. But I held on to that tiny clipping as if he’d written it. Hey – a girl can dream. And for all I know, it’s all yellowed and tucked into the bottom folds of a long-ignored box somewhere in this house.

Of course, today, paying for a message in a newspaper is about as relatable as putting a message on the foot of a carrier pigeon.

I can tell you now that I did run into that former Valentine, during an event when Mourning Has Broken came out in February 2019. I didn’t notice him in line to get my book signed until “In My Life” by the Beatles, which just happened to be one of “our” songs, came on in the store and someone piped up, “Hey, who’s picking the music?”

I looked up and I couldn’t believe my eyes. I confess to not being totally present for the person who was standing right in front of me and had bravely ventured out in the midst of a raging snowstorm. But this man was someone I’d hoped to run into for nearly 40 years since our relationship ended – maybe at a school reunion, at a dedication at my high school’s “wall of fame” – just anywhere, to see how life had treated him and how much he’d changed. (I mean, aren’t we all curious about how those high school sweethearts aged?)

I don’t think I even noticed what 40 years had done to (or for) him when we met that day in the book store and caught up a bit later while I was on a break; although, as you well know, I am very happily and terminally married, you never forget your first love.

There’s something else though that I remember from that day: besides the Beatles coming on in the store, there was one more nudge from chance. As we said our good-byes back in the book store, I leaned in for a hug, and spotted this over his shoulder.

Yes, the author’s name (except for the middle initial) is Lauren Davis, the same as our late daughter’s – the person whose passing, and the lessons that came with it, brought about this whole book-signing business to begin with.

Do I think Lauren brought us together that day? Oh, heck no. She was saying, “Mom – I see you. Sit down and behave yourself, will ya?”

That’s the thing about Valentines: we remember the ones we got, the ones we didn’t, and then there are ones who really had our hearts but are no longer here – always with us, keeping a watchful eye and sending, not flowers, but occasional messages of love, support and, yes, flicks upside the head to remind us they’re there and to be good. They are here; I know it in my heart.

You have a gentle day, and I’ll be back with you here on Thursday.

Just a thought… As much as you want to plan your life, it has a way of surprising you with unexpected things that will make you happier than you originally planned. [Nikhil Chourasiya]

As always, you can watch a video version of this journal on my Facebook page, or here on YouTube.

Well, I have some exciting news. I mean it is exciting, but it’s also news that’s meant to put you to sleep and even if you think it’s not for you, just read on for a few minutes and you’ll get a link to a little movie that I made. And wouldn’t you know it – I just missed out on the Oscar nominations, too!

So here’s the news. You know how last year I started doing a podcast of sleep stories because it was my dream? Well, here’s what happened: turns out people – you – like to listen to stuff for free. And I can’t blame you; I mean, you don’t pay for this, you didn’t pay to listen to me on the radio all those years, and so…subscriptions to Drift with Erin Davis were not what Apple or Frequency Podcasts had hoped. If you did subscribe (thank you!) rest assured you’ll be getting money back on the remainder of the period, when the next billing date comes up.

At first I thought, Well, that’s that…all that work and time and love and personal expense all up in smoke. But Rob saw opportunity and that’s exactly what this is: a chance to create something just perfect for you, for free.

So, starting now – like right now – you can listen to these sleep stories – gently told fairy tales from Hans Christian Andersen, the Brothers Grimm and other timeless classics, and even a few I’ve written myself – for free.

We’re also excited to be partnering with enVy Pillow. So much more than just a corporate sponsor, it’s a perfect fit for us: enVy Pillow was created and built by two business women (Registered Nurses) Kathy and Kim. They started this now-internationally successful and environmentally conscious Canadian company making really special pillows that I’ve been sleeping on for some 20 years now, and that I’ve recommended to my sisters and friends alike. They have more than just pillows on their site, and are waiting impatiently for their newest shipment right now, so they’re sleepless with excitement, too…but I’m so thrilled with this development.

The best news of all is that this means you’re getting this labour of love of mine, this dream, as a gift. And you can start listening now by going to your favourite source for podcasts and searching for Drift With Erin Davis or just clicking here. (A podcast app is probably better, because you can subscribe for free and get notified whenever there’s a new sleep story.)

Now, to celebrate, I decided to teach myself how to use iMovie even more than I already am putting my video journals together. So give me one minute and here’s a teaser (a trailer as we call it in the “movie business” LOL) for a brand new story that’s waiting for you at Drift.

Enjoy it, and I’ll be back with you here on Monday.

Just a thought… The louder you yell, the more irrelevant your message. [Jann Arden on Twitter yesterday]

You can watch a video version of this journal on my Facebook page, or here on YouTube. Lots of pictures today.

Sometimes I start writing a journal – just typing – until my fingertips send a message to my brain and to get my thoughts in order.

Today, though, after the weekend we’ve just had in Canada, I honestly have nothing more to say about “freedoms” than I said here last Monday. (And here we thought Groundhog Day only came once this month.)

So let’s switch lanes! I want to honour a woman who speaks out for what she believes in at the risk of her popularity: singer/songwriter/author/actress Jann Arden. (You’ll let me know if I left anything out.)

Jann dropped her filters decades ago – if you’ve read any of her books you know what I’m talking about – from the profound to the profane. She’s written about being sexually assaulted, about her mother’s dementia, about the export of horses to Asia for sushi, about eating animals. She wears her heart on her sleeve, which we know from her music (and her latest release, Descendant) but more importantly, Jann speaks up for causes that she believes in.

I would like to consider her a friend of mine; we’ve shared a stage and had some heartfelt chats, especially about grief. There have been innumerable radio interviews and she was gracious enough to write a foreword to my book. Her name and mine will forever be linked whenever you go to buy the book, as she’s right there in the description. And I couldn’t be more proud.

I’ve watched her TV show just get funnier and funnier and if you haven’t seen last season’s finale with Michael Bublé, you’re really missing something. It’s pretty amazing that CTV hasn’t muffled her voice; I don’t think they’d even try, although someone high up probably chugs Pepto when she lets loose. I follow her on just about every social media platform and love her spirit, her wit and just how real she allows herself to be.

I think of Jann Arden when I make a meal with meat; I don’t believe I could give up the way we choose to eat, but we do go meatless a few times a week. I hope somehow I’m not disappointing her, although I probably am. She’s right about so many things.

But this impresses me most about this fellow Tiger: she’s a public figure and has a big name, especially in this country, although thanks to Hulu, she’s gaining a much wider audience and she’s not afraid to share her opinion, no matter how unpopular, especially in her home province of Alberta. Come after oil, beef or a conservative politician and you’ve set yourself in the crosshairs of every troll who wants to call you names, insult your appearance or take shots so mean you want to take an eye bath after reading them.

See, that’s where she and I differ. I couldn’t stomach those vile shots. Like her, I occasionally respond to the dumbest comments, as I did this past weekend when I posted that heroes wear scrubs (so brave, right? LOL).

Once in a while, because it’s my sandbox and nobody gets to come in and sling poop, I delete them. Censorship? They may think so. But on my Facebook page, I refuse to make room for posts from people who get a hat with every roll of foil they purchase, if you know what I mean.

Not that putting foil on your head always means you’ve lost the plot; it just kinda looks that way.

I have the greatest respect for people who hold strong opinions, even if I don’t agree with them 100%, provided they can back them up with facts, preferably scientific, or present them in a respectful manner that suggests they’re open to conversation. I got one post who said she had the “upmost” (yes, upmost) respect for me but it’s dissolved…then she went on to cite anecdotes about effects of the vaccine. Her Facebook page – yes, I checked – is covered in posts supporting Maxime Bernier and the far, far right People’s Party of Canada. So I waved good-bye to her in the departure lounge.

I couldn’t be like Jann if I tried, after a lifetime of being so careful not to offend but I’m older and wiser now, no longer tethered to a corporation and need answer only to myself, to you, and hopefully to reflect the beliefs of people who join me wherever I am…or learn where I’m wrong and change my stance. But I’m done listening to people who yell about free speech, but don’t give a damn about the consequences that come with it.

In a world of jerks, be a Jann.

Just a thought…

I walked a mile with Pleasure, she chattered all the way. But left me none the wiser for all she had to say.

I walked a mile with Sorrow and ne’er a word said she…but, oh, the things I learned from her when Sorrow walked with me!

[Robert Browning]

As always, you can watch a video version of this journal on my Facebook page, or here on YouTube.

For a month that has only 28 days, this is a big one. I mean, besides everything going on in Ottawa (and it’s a LOT), we have the Olympics beginning tomorrow plus the Lunar New Year – my year, Year of the Tiger – has begun. Black History month is underway. Groundhog day was yesterday (whatever!) and on top of that, all this week we remember my mom.

Here she is with her girls – this was taken a year-and-a-half before she left us – from left, that’s youngest Leslie, then eldest Heather, Dad, Mom, and middle sisters Cindy and me. Mom and Dad and their four girls…always and still their “girls.”

See, it was ten years ago today that we took her off life support. She suffered a fast and basically fatal brain aneurysm on February 1st.  Then my sisters and I flew in and on February 3rd – this day – we said our goodbyes. Tomorrow is her birthday and she would have turned 89. But it was not to be.

I may have told you this – I know it’s in Mourning Has Broken: Love, Loss and Reclaiming Joy – but when I was sitting with my dad and sisters at Mom’s bedside after we’d unplugged her, I’d rub her arm and her heart rate numbers would increase. Now, I’ve chalked it up to static electricity or something, but it’s nice to think she was having a reaction to my touch – to our being there.

The way I deal with grief – the way we have to, I think, if we’re going to survive – is with gratitude. You might not think of those two things as going hand-in-hand, and they certainly don’t at first – or for some people at all – but for me, it’s all part of moving forward, of choosing how to react, as Viktor Frankl so beautifully worded it. So how do you find gratitude in losing a parent, long before you – or they – were ready?

I’m so grateful that her aneurysm took her quickly; the last thing Mom would have wanted was to be what she considered a burden to anyone. I’m glad she didn’t live to go through losing Lauren three years later. That would have broken her heart, and it would have shattered further when her grandson Michael died two years after that.

I’m glad she didn’t have to deal with the rampant ass-hattery that has surrounded us over the past two years during a pandemic. Being a retired RN, she’d have had no patience for those who wouldn’t help their fellow person by wearing a mask, keeping their distance and getting their shots. You think it burns my biscuits? Oh, Mom would have had none of it. Plus, with asthma and a heart condition, a positive Covid diagnosis could have meant a painful and lingering death for her.

So yes, there are things to be grateful for, always, even in having to say good-bye to such an amazing role model. She wasn’t perfect, but the best of me comes from the best of her. The rest of me – like my sense of humour – that’s mostly Dad. When I talked to him on Thursday, I asked him how he was doing. He said, “Well, I’m not sure. I’ve never been here [this age] before.” He’s always got a smile and an easy laugh.

By the way, if you have Netflix and haven’t yet watched Ricky Gervais’ beautiful, vulgar, funny, visceral take on loss called After Life, you’re really missing out. The series, three very brief seasons, has just wrapped up for good, so settle in and enjoy. As a take on grief, it’s – if you’ll pardon the pun – dead on, and has resonated with millions around the world, Rob and me included. See, that’s the thing about sharing: when you’re real, whether it’s through humour or tears, through the written word or a two-minute TikTok video, what comes from the heart goes to the heart.

From my heart, I wish you a gentle first February weekend – and wish the best of luck and all the tiger energy to our athletes in Beijing. The obstacles they’ve faced even getting there have been medal-worthy. We were tense just trying to get to our cruise in November with all of the hurdles: would we pass this test and the next one and the last one before we boarded? Now add to that, having to be the absolute best your country has to offer? On blades, skis, boards…whatever? Amazing. Enjoy it all and I’ll be back with you on Monday.

Just a thought… No one can take away my freedom to choose how I will react. [Viktor Frankl]

You can watch a video version of this journal on my Facebook page, or here on YouTube.

I have been wracking my brain how to make sense of what has been happening in our nation’s capital and it took a swimming pool to help me figure it out. Here we go.

I’ll start with one word we’ve seen a lot over the past week: “FREEDOM.” We all want freedom. We want freedom from the fear that Covid has wrought for the past two years. We want freedom not to wear masks every day when we’re out. We want freedom to travel, freedom to visit places and family in other countries without concerns that we might run into trouble getting out or getting back in. We want freedom from the exhaustion that so many among us feel; so many health care workers who keep hearing we’re going to have to “learn to live with Covid” while they have to work with it. We want freedom from worry.

We are all fed up. But most of us recognize that the right thing to do is to be adults (or heck, look to the children who don’t complain about wearing masks at school all day) and follow the path to freedom. That path isn’t found on a highway or a congested frigid Ottawa street. It’s in our stalwart Canadian hearts.

It’s stepping up and doing what’s best, no matter how uncomfortable and inconvenient, because it’s not just about us, but the people around us. The vulnerable. The elderly. The young who can’t get vaccinated. Those who are chronically ill and those who are anxiously awaiting treatment for diseases and have had to take a backseat or a bed in a hospital hallway, thanks to the coronavirus.

We want our freedoms, too. But see, we’re going about it a different way. We’re not calling our democratically elected leaders “dictators” or getting our children to hold up signs with obscenities on them. We’re continuing to find ways to stay connected instead of deepening divides that are being preyed upon by outside forces, or by the darkest dregs of our society, no longer in hiding and now brazenly flying their deplorable flags for the world to see.

Side note: when the orange twice-impeached hate monger gives your cause a shout out (as he did from one of his loser tour rallies on Saturday) you might want to rethink your position on things.

While the eyes of many Canadians were on Ottawa Saturday afternoon, let me tell you what I was doing: I was in a huge community pool with Colin, swimming, lounging, playing, laughing, even doing a four-storey water slide three times. The entire outing I had a smile on my face and I realized with some surprise that people could see it because I wasn’t wearing a mask.

I talked with parents and grandparents. I smiled at children. And I thought, Why is this okay? Why am I in a public place without a mask? And then I remembered: because we all had to show proof of vaccination and photo ID before we got in, except for the kids, of course. But I could imagine that many of them had also had their first shot. We were protected, as much as we could be. And for those two wet hours, life felt loud, boisterous and joyful.

That. That is freedom. Would I prefer a playdate to a mandate? Of course. But if that’s what it takes for me to feel free, don’t I – and the 90% of us who’ve been vaccinated – deserve to have a voice, too?